in0 (7 page)

Now he pushed the door to the bridal suite open. He averted his eyes, walked in far enough to hand the bride a cell phone, then turned around and walked back out again. This was probably a good thing, since two of the bridemaids were in the process of exchanging bras.

“This is amazing,” one of them said. “Your B bra pushes up my C cleavage.”

“And your C bra,” the other one said, “makes my A cleavage look like there’s something there.”

I was about to call Maidenform to sign them up for a commercial, when the bride closed the cell phone. She really started dry heaving in earnest now. I was never going to get rid of this wedding party if I didn’t get her under control.

“Go get some wine,” I whispered to the only bridesmaid left wearing her own bra. “Fast.”

42

C L A I R E C O O K

Then I turned on the TV to the Food Network. Even the wild little kids and the tiny yippy dog settled down. We all sat there and watched for a few moments, and I tried to learn about blanching, which was something I’d never fully understood either.

“That was John,” the bride said between heaves. “He’s the groom. He couldn’t get me on my cell. I must have left it on vibrate.”

“Shh,” I said. “Wait.” Precious came over and yipped and circled a few times, then peed on the rug. I was right about the dress. It stayed dry as a bone.

The wild little kids screamed. They ran over to take a closer look at the pee. Precious jumped back up on the bed without being thrown. The mother of the bride dropped a towel on top of the pee and stepped on it, which made the wild little kids scream some more.

The bridesmaid returned from the bar with an open bottle of white wine. She poured a glass, and the bride gulped it down.

“They have to go back to Braintree,” she said when she finished. “They got all the way back with the tuxes, and they forgot to give them any pants.”

“Ooh,” I said. “I like it. A
Risky Business
kind of wedding.

You know, tux jackets with the shirttails sticking out, and all those sexy male legs.”

The bride started to giggle. I grabbed a hunk of hair and got going on the rest of her corkscrew curls with the curling iron

“Maybe we could find them some kilts and a bagpipe,” the C

cup bridesmaid said. The bridesmaid with the wine handed her the bottle, and she took a big slug and handed it back.

“They’re going to stop by the walk-in clinic and get a throat culture while they’re up there. John thinks he might have strep throat.”

Summer Blowout

43

“He’s a total hypochondriac,” the A cup bridesmaid said.

“Guess who’s having a baby?” the bridesmaid in her own bra said. “Allison and Mark.”

“Are they back together?”

“They were for one night. Don’t tell her I told you.” I got the last curl nailed down without any hitches. That wine was really working. Now all I had left was the mother of the bride, who got up and went to the bathroom as soon as she saw I was ready for her.

“What’s her problem?” I asked the matron of honor.

The matron of honor shrugged. “She’s still not over my wedding. She thinks one of the makeup people insulted her.” The bathroom door opened. “I heard her say it,” the mother of the bride said. “She said, ‘I don’t do old eyes.’ ”

“No she didn’t,” the matron of honor said. “She said to the other one, ‘Why don’t you do her. You’re better at older eyes.’ ”

“Same thing,” the mother of the bride said.

“It is not, Mom,” the matron of honor said. “Not even close.”

I patted the stool in front of me. “Sit,” I said. “I’ll give you eyes so young the bartender will have to ask for your ID.” Like many women her age, the mother of the bride was the victim of serious eyebrow overplucking. I gave her a few drops of Visine, primed her, dabbed some concealer around her eyes and nose, and airbrushed her. Then I filled out her eyebrows with an angled brush and soft brown eyebrow powder and told her never, ever to use an eyebrow pencil on them again.

I handed her my eyelash curler and let her do that part herself. I’d learned this the hard way when one of my clients sneezed while I was curling her eyelashes. I still cringed when I thought about that one. But curled eyelashes really 44

C L A I R E C O O K

make eyes of any age pop, so it was worth waiting for her to figure it out.

Then I gave her smoky eyes, and to minimize her droopy eyelids, I added a bit of deeper brown on the saggy parts. Next I added some frosty white under her brows. If you’re careful not to overdo it, just a bit of frosted eye shadow there can really open up your eyes and make you look younger. I added some subtle false eyelashes and lots of Maybelline Intense XXL mascara in brownish black. I finished her off with Red Hot Mama lips.

“Give some extra money to the girl,” the mother of the bride said when the father walked in again. He reached into his pocket and handed me some pretty big bills, so I decided not to be too insulted.

My work here was done. Often the photographer showed up to stage some fully made-up shots of the wedding party pretending to get ready, but at least I’d been spared that one today. They must have decided to meet the photographer at the wedding. I started packing up my case. The matron of honor hung up her phone, then walked over and looked out the window. She whispered something to her father and blew a kiss in the direction of the wild little kids.

The bride picked up Precious and tucked her under one arm. One of the bridesmaids offered her the bottle of wine.

She grabbed it with her free hand and took another long gulp.

The bride’s mother smiled at herself in the mirror over the bed and started heading for the door, and the bridesmaids followed.

The father of the bride reached into his pocket and pulled out his wad of bills again. He peeled off some good ones and handed them to me.

Summer Blowout

45

It sounded like he said, “The babysitter will be here in a minute.” But it also might have been, “The lady slipper will steer in a cynic.”

Either way, before I knew what hit me, the wild little kids and I were alone.

• 7 •

“CALL SOCIAL SERVICES,” MY MOTHER SAID. “WAIT,
I’ll get you the number for the Child-at-Risk Hotline.” I’d gone into the bedroom to make the phone call to my mother. I stuck my head back into the living room to peek at the kids. They were kind of cute when they quieted down.

They were both sucking their thumbs while they learned to make Simple Stovetop Mocha Pudding. Watching the chocolate melt in the double boiler was pretty mesmerizing in high definition, and it was also interesting to note that you should always turn off the heat
before
you stir in the vanilla. Craig’s kids had loved to cook at that age.

“Bella,” my mother’s voice said in my ear. “Are you still there?”

“Oh, sorry,” I said. “I don’t know. If I did that, they’d probably want some of the money back.”

“You took money to watch them?”

“Well,” I said. “It’s not like I had much of a choice.”

“Bella,” my mother said. “Did you or did you not find two abandoned children?”

My mother was such a social worker sometimes. “Never mind,” I said. “So, what else is new? Where were you last night?”

“Out with a friend,” my mother said. “So, do we or do we not have a crisis here?”

Summer Blowout

47

I walked over to the bar area. There was a nice, big fruit basket, so I helped myself to an apple. “Not,” I said.

“Okay then. Wait, I have another call coming in. Listen, I’ll give you a call later, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too,” I said to dead air. I closed my phone. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked out the window. I ate my apple. The bridal suite had a great view of Marshbury harbor.

It looked like everybody with a boat was heading out to enjoy this perfect late August day.

I finished the apple and checked the clock radio beside the couch. The bride was probably walking down the aisle right about now. With luck, the wine hadn’t worn off yet, since it would be a shame to start dry heaving on the altar. I wondered if the groom really had strep throat. I wondered if he was wearing pants.

I could feel myself just about to start strolling down mem-ory lane to the foggy past of
my
wedding. I definitely didn’t want to go there, so I took a deep breath and shook it off. I looked out the window again, hoping to see some sign of the babysitter, not that I had any idea what she, or even he, might look like.

The cooking show must have gone to a commercial, because the wild little kids ran into the room and started jumping on the bed and screaming at the top of their lungs. Still, no one banged on the door or called to complain. The bridal suite must be practically soundproof. I wondered if they advertised it that way.

All that yelling was starting to give me a headache. I did some quick math and decided I’d stayed here long enough to have earned the extra cash.

“Hey,” I said. “How about some makeup before we hit the road?”

48

C L A I R E C O O K

THE WILD LITTLE KIDS WERE
buckled in the back of my Volkswagen bug, and I was driving really slowly, since I was pretty sure that technically they should still have been riding in car seats.

I took a look at them in the rearview mirror. They weren’t exactly fit for a wedding reception in those striped polo shirts, but at least the makeup dressed them up a bit. They’d both giggled a lot when I airbrushed them, especially the little boy.

I’d gone easy on the rest of the makeup though, so they wouldn’t turn out looking like those awful little beauty pageant kids.

I took a left at the end of Front Street. The tricky part was that I didn’t actually know where the reception was. This might have been problematic in a town bigger than Marshbury, but there were only three possibilities, so I knew we’d find it eventually. Unless, of course, they’d gone out of town, but I wasn’t going to let myself think about that.

I looked at the wild little kids in my rearview mirror.

“How’re you doing back there?” I asked in that stupid voice even people who know better use when they’re talking to kids.

Neither of them said anything. “Good to hear,” I said in the same voice.

I banged a right on Beach Rose Road and headed for the yacht club. I pulled into the parking lot and drove right up next to the function room. I put the car into park, took out my keys, and kept one hand on the door. I stood on my tiptoes to look into the window. Nothing.

“Five bucks says we’ll get it on the next try,” I said when I got back in the car.

“Ten,” one of the wild little kids said.

Summer Blowout

49

“Well, what do you know,” I said. “You’re verbal.” That got them screaming again. I rolled down my window, hoping some of the noise would escape. I thought about putting down the convertible top, since it was such a nice day, but I was afraid I might lose one of them if we hit a bump. I wanted to get rid of the wild little kids, but I also wanted to hang on to the money. They might want a partial refund for damaged children.

We backtracked, then took a left onto Inner Harbor Lane.

The parking lot at the Olde Marshbury Taverne was packed.

“Bingo,” I said.

“I win,” one of the wild little kids said behind me.

I pulled the car as close as I could to the front entrance. I left my window open a crack for air circulation and locked the car carefully. Locking kids alone in a car was probably illegal, but in my defense, abandoning them at the wrong wedding most likely was, too.

“Be right back,” I said.

Almost the first person I saw was the matron of honor. “Excuse me,” I said. “But the babysitter never showed. . . .” She looked over her shoulder. For a minute there, I thought she was going to make a run for it, but she turned back around again. “Two more hours,” she said. “How much?” Even I knew it would be bad for my self-esteem to head into Saturday night as a babysitter. “Sorry,” I said.

She shook her head and followed me out to the car. The kids started screaming again when they saw her.

The matron of honor didn’t thank me. I don’t think she even noticed the great complimentary makeup job I’d done on her wild little offspring. She just reached into my car and unbuckled them, then started dragging them into the reception.